Gifts from Grandfather
by Smurfgirlz
Summary: AU. Set after A Mother's Love. A grandfather muses over his life, and how much he should explain, after meeting his granddaughter.


Written for **Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments)**:

 **2018 Yearly Event - The Insane House Challenge**  
Prompt #422 - _Word: Love_

 **April Monthly Challenge - HOUSE CHALLENGE - Going, Going, Gone!**  
Hufflepuff House Prompt #25 - _Color: Pink_

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Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe, or any of it's characters.

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Beta Love to Alana - she is an angel, I know I say that all the time but it's true! Thank you Alana, for all the hard work you put into everything you do!

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 **AN:** This story takes place in the same universe as my story A Mother's Love. It is not necessary to have read that for this to make sense, but the context is more in focus if you have. Thank you to Sophy (The Crownless Queen) for her brilliant hc, which still has my head spinning wildly with ideas.

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It's been over 60 years since I've felt the caress of magic along my skin. The last time was the day my father disowned me, and I felt the scorching magic as I was removed from the family. Mother had ensured I went to another branch of the family, and that with these new parents I would feel love, and learn how to love others. There was no magic in this new life as Mark Granger though, and it hurt. I never realized just how much I had loved being near my sister and brother as they would perform accidental magic around me, the rush of the magic as it washed over my skin, the tingle that would start at the base of my spine and rush up to my head. Kids these day would say it was a headrush, or something of the like. I lost track of what the kids say over the years.

My mother told me that she knew I would live a long and happy life; she felt it in her soul. She was right. I have lived through not one, but two world wars. I have felt the pinch of hunger in my stomach as food was rationed and there never seemed to be enough. But I have been happy. I married and had a child, a son born without magic, just like my wife and I. My son fell in love and married, and has recently presented me with a grandchild. And oh, she is beautiful. They have named her Hermione, a very large name for such a small young lady. It fits her though, and I can feel her magic calling out to me, as it touches parts of my soul that I thought I would never feel again. It makes me cry, knowing that, because I had been disowned, I cannot tell her of her heritage - her birthright.

The Black family I grew up in was never very stable. I know now through the muggle education I was given that it was inbreeding, combining the same genetics over and over, that caused the madness to run in my family. I remember the madness in my father's eyes, and then reflected in my elder brother Pollux's eyes the day he pushed me from the window and we found out I was born a squib. It is lucky that I married a muggle, and my son married one also. Hermione is safe from that madness; I truly believe the blood that runs in her veins was cleansed.

I wonder if she will ever hear my name, the one I was born with, and feel kinship. Will she ever realize that Marius Black was really her grandfather, that had things been different she would have been born with the surname Black? As I watch her grow older, a part of me wants to tell her, to warn her about the wizarding world. Another part of me wants it to be a surprise for her, to let her enjoy her youth away from the pureblood culture that I knew so well, a culture that suffocates and strangles until you conform to their beliefs.

No, for that alone, I will keep my secrets locked tight inside me, and never let them be known. I can see in her eyes, even at this young age, that the perceived injustice of my youth would keep her locked out of the wizarding world. Her mind would see to it that she never embraced her magic, and that would be a tragedy for all. Her magic is so beautiful and bright, and I know in my soul that she will do great and wondrous things - both with magic and for the magical beings that live in the world with us.

I am not long for this world: I can feel death coming to claim me, and I will go with no regrets. Little Hermione, in her pink ribbons and tights, will be considered a muggleborn witch. It is better this way. She will be safer the further she is from what was once my family.

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 _Word Count: 685 by Google Docs_


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